


At the Start

by Arsoemon



Series: Younglings [9]
Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Babies, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Not Canon Compliant, Tiny Thief Verse, good guy sojiro
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:09:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27674516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arsoemon/pseuds/Arsoemon
Summary: How they became Sojiro’s tiny thieves
Series: Younglings [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1581940
Comments: 12
Kudos: 48





	1. Kurusu Akira

“My god...” Sojiro opens the door to find a pale, underfed young boy, his dark, tangled curls overpowering his tiny frame. A glance under the table showed no pants or shoes, and the large shirt slipping from his shoulder is far cleaner than the rest of him. There’s a scratch on his swollen cheek; he can’t see the kid’s eyes.

It’s barely been a year since they lost Wakaba. His own complicated feelings aside, the hardest part has been trying to help Futaba understand why she hasn’t been showing up to dinner or to do her hair or tuck her in at night without breaking the little girl’s heart any more than it already may be.

There’s a small group of coworkers he’s never gotten along with, something just overall unpleasant about them. His gut tells him they had something to do with the “accident.” She was from the lab, she wasn’t even supposed to be out there.

He shakes his head as he rises to follow the man through the drab building. Whatever he feels for the group, one of them is dead now, and there’s another child left orphaned. No one in the department even knew the kid existed until the guy failed to check in two days in a row. They didn’t go into detail on what happened to the man, only that he was found unresponsive in his home, and a small boy was cowering in a corner.

Sojiro takes the first aid kit from the nearest agent and taps into his gentle side. No one else has been able to get him to talk.

“Hi,” Sojiro says kindly as he approaches the chair facing the little one. No answer, not that he expected one. “What’s your name?”

The boy sits unmoving. For all Sojiro knows, he’s fallen asleep in the large chair. He rests his hands on his legs as the door closes with a loud squeak and a quiet click.

“My name is Sojiro. I worked with your dad.” The kid’s silence and stillness almost makes the man question if he’s in the room with someone else at all. “Can you tell me what happened?” His voice is quieter, more in alignment with the atmosphere of the little interrogation room. He hopes for but doesn’t expect an answer, and expectation prevails.

He was never fond of the third party interaction part of the job. People hear “government” and are automatically defensive. Not that he could blame them, but it certainly made things more difficult to start a conversation already in the negatives and have to chisel away at the walls his very presence built. This is a different situation. He has no particular interest in dealing with children, but the comment has been made a few times that he’d be good with them.

He’s not so sure about that, but he does care about Futaba and now this boy sitting on the other side of the table. Maybe that’s the issue, this separation as if the little one is a criminal to be kept a safe distance away. Sojiro moves his chair to one of the short ends of the table so he’s closer, less imposing, and tries his questions again.

The boy does at least turn his head to look at him, he’s listening at least. But he still seems to have nothing to say. Sojiro takes a deep breath, quietly so as to not sound frustrated with the boy, and resigns himself to failure.

“You can just tell us if you want to talk, okay?” After another moment of nothing, Sojiro quietly pushes himself up from the table and turns to the door.

“Sojiro...” He stops in his tracks, unable to hide his surprise as he turns to face the small boy. His eyes are still hidden, he hasn’t moved at all. Just as he’s about to excuse himself once more, “ow.” Sojiro takes a seat.

•

The boy winces as he pulls up the shirt sleeve and points to a bruise too large for his arm to hold. “Ow.”

“What happened?” Sojiro asks. No answer. Sojiro tries a different tactic. He too points at the bruise and looks where he thinks the kid’s eyes are. “Ow?”

“Bad.” He makes a punching motion. “Ow.” The boy slowly turns in his seat and pulls the back of the too large shirt up. “Bad. Ow.”

Sojiro waits for the kid’s next move and repeats the same word when it seems like he’s waiting for a response. That seems to do it. The little boy turns back around, his pain now obvious in his slow, stiff movements. His hands disappear into the abyss on his head. Sojiro gulps as the rest of the boy’s face is revealed.

His eyes are a deep, piercing, endless gray ringed by red, puffy skin, the only evidence of any emotion at all. There’s a gash that’s recently been stitched over his left eye, his blinks are slow as if to compensate.

“Ow...” Sojiro doesn’t wait for the kid to say. He nods. Sojiro fashions a small headband from his tie and offers it to the boy who surprisingly allows the man close enough to tie it back himself.

“What’s your name?” Sojiro tries again. The boy blinks at him. “My name,” Sojiro rests his hand over his chest, “is Sojiro. What is your name?” He asks again, pointing to the boy.

The boy seems to think for a moment then points to Sojiro. “Sojiro.” Sojiro nods, a small smile on his face as he points to the boy. The boy points back to himself. “Bastard.”

The smile slips from Sojiro’s lips. The kid barely understands language and yet he can pronounce that one word so well. He tries to maintain his gentle tone.   


“I’ll be right back, okay?” He’s not sure if the boy understands but tries to step out quickly. He returns a few minutes later with snacks, paper and pens, and some basic information they neglected to mention before sending him in. The boy looks up as Sojiro returns.

“You hungry?” Sojiro returns to his seat and sets the snacks and drawing materials in front of the kid. He opens the juice box and pre-packaged lunch and watches the boy take a few bites before directing his attention to the paper. He sits patiently as the boy draws what appears to be random shapes and scribbles.

After a time, he clears his throat and decides to try to get some answers again. “Akira?” The boy’s head snaps up, a look of surprise on his face. So that’s his name.

”Momma?” Sojiro quickly flips through the file he came back with. He holds up a picture the boy reaches for. “Momma.” He stares at the picture for a long while.

”Momma?” Sojiro asks quietly, the softest parts of his heart already bleeding.   


“Bye bye,” Akira says just as quietly. His face flattens out to neutral once more as he hands the picture back to Sojiro and picks up the pen. The shapes appear to be coming together to form people. A short while later, he holds the page up to show. “Bye bye.”

There are three stick figures on the page. One is lying flat on the ground, one is standing nearby with what looks like a stick in hand, the tiny third is a little ways away, a sad look on its face. Sojiro and the boy share a moment of silent understanding.  


He takes the drawing and passes him a blank sheet of paper. After rifling through the folder again, he pulls out another picture. Akira has a very different reaction to this one. He nearly tips the chair over as he hops down and runs to the opposite corner.

”Akira?” Sojiro doesn’t even try to hide his concern. “Hey, it’s ok-“ he stands slowly, moving to approach the small boy.

”Ow!” His voice is distressed, face panicked as he points to the picture with a shaking finger.

”Alright! Okay! He’s gone. See? He’s gone.” Sojiro buries the picture of the man at the back of the folder and closes it, holding his hands up as if in surrender. The boy runs to him and clings to his leg. That’s as clear an answer as any.  


The wheels are already turning in his mind. There’s a good chance that there’s someone more qualified to raise him but an even better chance that he’ll encounter more who aren’t. There will be a ton of paperwork and red tape, but that’s preferable to this kid becoming a ward of the state, drifting from place to place only to land in a similar situation.  


He pats the boy on the head, his mind made up.


	2. Akechi Goro

Sojiro loiters by the food table, here at the holiday party for a department he has less than two weeks left to work for. After months of gathering paperwork and proving he’s at least a decent enough caregiver, he was called in by the director and offered quite the sum to keep quiet about his now deceased coworker’s shameful secrets. An almost exorbitant amount was his to spend under the conditions that he leave his position and never publicize the details of the boy’s discovery.

As he looks around, drinking but not tasting the cheap champagne, he’s ready to go get his kids and go home for the holiday. He spots a beautiful young woman standing by a table. The man she’s smiling hopefully at pays her no mind and rises to go somewhere else with a handful of other men, his goons. Shido. Sojiro can barely contain the scowl that sinks onto his lips as he watches the man go and the poor lady’s face sink as he passes her without even a glance.

He observes nonchalantly. He’s not necessarily a spy per se, but there are a number of skills it helps to have in this job. She pulls out a flip phone and seems to frantically dial someone, her distress slipping into panicked tears as she flips the phone shut and looks around as if for an answer. Sojiro finishes his drink and checks the time. It’s been a socially acceptable amount of time to stay. He makes his way to the door.

The lady’s face sets with a fearful resolve as she starts her own walk toward the door. Sojiro can hear a quiet shriek and what sounds like a bag of potatoes hitting the floor and turns around to see the lady gathering her bearings. Her heel snapped clean off the right shoe.

“Are you okay, Miss?” He offers her a hand that she gratefully accepts.

“Yes, I’m fine. Sorry for the commotion.”

“Not at all,” Sojiro waits patiently for her to figure out her balance with just the one shoe in the hand not holding his arm. “Will you be able to fix it?”

She sighs. “I’m afraid not.” She removes the other shoe and throws them both away in a nearby trash can. Sojiro shakes his head and grins to himself, stunned that even now Wakaba’s wisdom saves the day.

“Would you like something to protect your feet?”

“I’ll be fine. I should’ve worn something more sensible or at least brought an extra pair of flats.”

Sojiro pulls out a pair of socks he always keeps ‘ _just in case_ ,’ his old friend had suggested. “They’re clean. I promise,” he smirks at the general oddness of this situation. She returns his smile with a small giggle.

“Thank you.” One problem solved, the other seems to come back to mind.

“Is everything alright?” Sojiro asks, allowing his genuine concern to show on his face.

“I need to get home. My son-“ she looks up at Sojiro as if she’s said too much.

“I have kids to go put to bed, too. Would you like some company on the way?”

She still looks a bit nervous but nods yes with a small smile. They talk about a number of things—mostly the kids—on the walk to and through various stations, and before either even realizes it, they’ve made it to her apartment.

“Thank you very much for the escort, Sakura-San.” Her smile is genuine and warm. He tips his hat to her and takes a couple steps back to let her open the door. As soon as she twists the knob and turns to wish Sojiro a good night, a small boy appears in the house, staring at him.

“Good evening, little man,” Sojiro offers a warm smile.

“Who are you?” His eyes are hard, distrustful.

“Goro, honey, is that how you greet people? This is Sojiro, a kind gentleman who helped me get home to you.” She bends down to hug the boy, and his face is one of a child happy to be in his mother’s arms. She takes his small hand as she stands to wave at Sojiro. “Say goodnight, Goro.”

The boy still looks hesitant, but his face is much softer as they wave him away.

Months go by without incident. He puts some of the money toward a small coffee shop in the populated yet quiet backstreets of Yongen-Jaya; Leblanc as everyone now knows, thanks to the piece in a restaurant guide. Business is good, steady. Enough to make a comfortable living on but slow enough for him to adjust his hours as needed.

“Write your names on your paper,” Sojiro sifts through the back shelf, looking for the right bean for this brew. “Everyone done? Now, write your favorite food underneath your name.” 

It’s one of his slower days. A middle-aged couple sits talking about whatever is on tv and occasionally smiling at Sojiro and his two littles. It’s been almost nonstop speech therapy and grammar practice for Akira. Futaba’s participation helps make it feel more like a fun activity than the mandatory drilling it is.

“I am done!” He holds his paper out to the older man as Futaba draws a picture. Sojiro checks over his work and is pleased to congratulate him with a headpat and a sincere “good job!” Akira beams, and the door jingles open, much to Futaba’s liking.

“Welcome!” The three of them greet, the older couple laughing a bit.

“Oh! Fancy seeing you here,” Sojiro smiles warmly as the lady enters with a shy smile.

“So the rumors are true then,” her smile widens. “Congratulations!”

“Thank you. Hello again, sir,” he nods to Goro standing as tall as a boy so small can stand, almost protectively next to his mother.

“Hello to you as well,” he nods back, the interaction inwardly amusing for a kid still reaching up to hold his mom’s hand.

“I was sad to hear that you were no longer with the agency. I wasn’t sure I could ever return these.” She hands him the pair of socks. He can’t suppress a chuckle.

“I appreciate that. It really was no trouble, though. I’m sorry I was so difficult to track down for these.”

“Please don’t apologize. This is as wonderful a reason to leave as any. Besides, I was able to see the highly regarded Leblanc in person.”

“Would you like to try something?”

“Oh we can’t intrude long.”

“Then could I get you something for the road? It’s on me.”

“Oh we were just—“ Goro’s stomach growls, and he shrinks behind her a little. Sojiro tries to avoid making assumptions, but some of his observations are starting to form a larger picture.

“Think of it as payment, for inadvertently making you come all this way.” A brief moment of understanding passes between the two adults, and her genuine smile returns.

“Thank you very much.”

From then on, the two kept a running tab at the cafe, one that the lady offered many times to pay. Sojiro got pretty creative with ways to politely refuse. Goro seemed much more polite and friendly with Sojiro as time passed. He even seemed to get along with Akira and Futaba, taking on the title of big brother fairly quickly.

One day, the door jingles open.

“Welcome!” Sojiro calls over his shoulder.

“Goro?” The distress in Akira’s voice catches Sojiro’s attention. He turns around to see the small boy in the doorway trembling.

“Kid?” He walks over to him and kneels to look him in the eye. The boy’s face is red and soaked with tears. Goro looks away as he shoves the envelope clenched in his hand into the man’s chest, his head coming to rest on Sojiro’s shoulder as his small frame collapses inward on itself.

Sojiro has a pretty good idea of what this letter says and is all the more reluctant to open it. He holds his breath as he opens the envelope, his heart dropping as he reads through. As he feared, the kind lady is gone—by her own hand, if the letter is to be believed—and yet another child is left alone in this world. So sudden and unexpected. Once again, he missed the signs. Sojiro holds the boy close, his own eyes beginning to overflow.

“Oniichan okay?” Akira asks from behind him. A heavy stretch of silence passes as Sojiro considers what to do next, making up his mind on the spot.

He nods resolutely as the boy holds tightly to his shirt. 

“He will be.”


End file.
